


Oh Christmas Tree

by frnklymrshnkly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Law-breaking, M/M, light crime, petty larceny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 15:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12890496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnklymrshnkly/pseuds/frnklymrshnkly
Summary: Sirius gives Remus the gift of plausible deniability.





	Oh Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carpemermaidtales (carpemermaid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/gifts).



> At carpemermaid, I drabbled this little wolfstar tidbit for you as a small token of my gratitude for creating a fandom sandbox for us to play in. It is not lost on me that I am gifting you wolfstar in thanks for a drarry space. /shrug. I hope that you enjoy it and that your holidays are merry and bright!
> 
> All glory to aibidil for the quick and encouraging beta!

Sirius’s hands are freezing, which makes sense, he laments, because he chose his riding gloves for style, not substance. He rubs his hands together, because futility has never prevented him from doing anything. 

He thinks longingly of his bed. Remus should be home and sleeping now, keeping it warm. Sirius looks forward to getting back, to climbing in beside him and stealing his body heat, to seeing his face in the morning when he wakes up to… well, this.

Sirius checks his watch. It’s been 30 minutes since the woman whom he _hopes_ was the last employee to leave locked the chainlink gates behind her. Well, it’s been 23 minutes, but patience has never been his cardinal virtue.

He’d planned to wait half an hour after the lights were doused and the gates locked, just in case some bookkeeper or office stooge was still around. 

Waiting isn’t his forté, though, so he hoists himself up from where he’s leaning on his Disillusioned bike, marches toward the gate like a challenger, and begins to scale it. Remus would shush him and tell him to move slowly and quietly. But Remus isn’t here. He’s cosy in bed. And Sirius is content to climb clumsily, though quickly, up, the toes of his Chelsea boots a minor hinderance.

In less than a minute he launches his legs over the top of the gate. He lands heavily in a crouch on the inside of the yard, his knees protest, but whatever.

Inside the yard, he stalks through the open-air aisles quickly, but methodically, eyes scanning each one. He wonders what Remus would like best. He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Remus, after all. 

People who don’t know Remus think he’s reserved—docile even. And sure, compared to he and Prongs, he’s a picture of thoughtfulness, restraint, and good manners. But Sirius has known him for 8 years, and Remus is no stoic. As a matter of fact, he’s downright crafty. It’s only early December yet, but as soon as London began to sparkle with Christmas lights and ornaments, Remus had taken to sighing philosophically when they’d leave the flat. Within a fortnight, he’d confessed to Sirius that it just didn’t feel like Christmas without a tree. He’d shrugged off his own comment, but there’s no such a thing as a throwaway comment around Sirius, who hears everything as a challenge and lives for a mission. No cause is too trivial. And besides, it’s their first Christmas outside Hogwarts. Their first one out on their own. Their first one to make their own memories and forge their own traditions for the coming years. If Moony wants a tree, he’s fucking having one. 

The question is, which one? He’s in an aisle of Scots Pine at the moment, but he’s walking to the end with a purpose. Remus deserves better than a tree that would most charitably be described as “frumpy.” He takes a left at the end of the aisle and heads down a row of Noble Firs. No thank you. He continues, left or right randomly at the end of each aisle. Finally, he finds himself amidst a number of Norway Spruces. Sirius walks up to a particularly fat one, pulls off his right glove, and rubs some fine-smelling needles between his thumb and index finger, as though he actually knows anything about what to look for in needle scent or consistency. He likes this one, though. It’s slightly uneven in its branch distribution, standing out defiantly amongst its more symmetrical counterparts. 

He decides this is their tree, and with a wordless Wingardium Leviosa, he levitates the tree above the ground and keeps it hovering before him as he follows it back toward the entrance to the yard.

Since Sirius doesn’t know the meaning of subtlety, he sets the tree down and opens the chain lock on the gate by magic and walks out, leaving it open behind him. He keeps walking, tree bobbing merrily in front of him as he approaches his bike, parked and Disillusioned behind some bushes along the gravel up the drive.

Sirius considers shrinking the tree down to pocket size, but worries that he’ll arrive back at the flat with a pocket full of tiny, broken branches. It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

He wishes James were here. It would be fucking ace to have a spare wand arm. Not to mention some camaraderie—someone to appreciate the petty larceny, to say nothing of the romance of the gesture. James can always be counted on for that. But right now it’s James’s family that are counting on him to stay alive, so Sirius can’t begrudge him the quiet, law-abiding safety of Godric’s Hollow. Well, not too much. 

And Peter’d be worse than useless, he knows. He’s have all kinds of questions like: “Why don’t you just buy a tree, Sirius?” and “You know you can just get them delivered, don’t you?” As if buying someone a Christmas tree contains a fraction as much romance as sneaking out to the countryside in the dead of night to steal one.

Nope, stolen Christmas trees are the way to go. He imagines maybe bringing Remus with him next year. He knows he could talk him into it. 

But right now there’s _this_ year’s tree to consider. There’s nothing for it, Sirius decides. He didn’t drive across hell’s half acre in the cold to bring Moony back a ruined tree. He ends the Disillusionment Charm, sets the tree down in the sidecar, Conjures some sturdy twine, and begins the job of affixing a pointy, uncooperative object into a space designed for positionable human bodies. Patience isn’t his strong suit, so after 15 minutes of tree wrestling, he hopes it’s secure enough. 

He wipes the sweat from his brow with a leather-clad forearm and takes a moment to catch his breath and admire his handiwork, before straddling the seat of his bike. He doesn’t bother to Disillusion it again. It’s a dark night. Only a few days past the new moon. 

He kicks the bike into gear and as it takes flight his heart goes with it. No matter how many times he rides this fucking beauty, the sound it makes as it roars to life and goes wheels up, taking Sirius with it, never fails to make him grin like a certifiable lunatic.

The trip back to central London isn’t too far, as the enchanted motorbike flies, and Sirius begins thinking of just how to get the tree into the flat without waking Moony. Perhaps through the window? He can always cast a Silencing Charm. Whatever, he dismisses the thought. He’ll figure that out when he gets there. 

As he flies home, he pictures Remus’s face—how it will look in the morning when he ambles out of the bedroom in search of tea only to find a full-fledged Christmas tree. They’ll have tea and breakfast and Sirius will take him shopping for fairly lights and baubles in Muggle London.

The thought fills him with warmth even as freezing air bites into the exposed skin of his face. 

They’ll start their own Christmas traditions this year.

**Author's Note:**

> Some light holiday law-breaking, inspired by the year we were so poor we couldn't afford a tree but my ace mum didn't let that stop her. This was like 18 years ago, so I think the Statute of Limitations has expired and she's in the clear. 
> 
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
